


Inside the Mind

by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/pseuds/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demons circle and stalk their prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce.  He's trapped himself inside his mind, is he strong enough to battle against them and win?</p><p>Johnlock goggles apply because in this verse, this is where it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to MojoFlower for being my beta and her wonderful constructive feedback.

He holds his head in his hands, a brutal headache pounding against the already battered walls of his mind.

****

_He has trapped himself here, in this forsaken place with no door and no way out.  Deep scars of desperation scour the round walls.  Black scorch marks of empty loneliness spatter the room like a Jackson Pollock painting.   Very little light filters through tenuous windows of hope.  Sadness rolls in on a fog, seemingly harmless but oh so deceptively dangerous._

_**** _

_The only sounds are demons whispering in the gloom:_ You’re useless.  No one wants you.  Damaged goods.  Pathetic.  Weak. _The whispers sweep in on a nameless wind, bouncing and echoing off the walls._

_**** _

_A tiny avatar of himself wanders the room.  Desperate and imprisoned in his mind he gouges at the walls until his nails crack and fingers bleed.  He screams until his throat is raw but makes no sound; and even if there was no one would hear him.  The silence is maddening.  Isolated and miserable, he sits, banging his head against the wall, eyes swollen from crying, tears tracing salty tracks down his dusty cheeks.  He’s tired, so tired._

****

The man, himself, curls into a ball on his bed, shoulders shaking.  He silently weeps.  The demons are winning this time.  How could anyone want him?  How could anyone love him?  He’s too damaged, too “not good”.  Besides, no one’s noticed before when he’s had his moments, so why would they notice this time?  Why would they even care?

****

A hand reaches out of the darkness, gently touches his shoulder, a worried voice says his name.  He startles at the touch, at that familiar voice.

****

It’s finally happening, he’s going mad.  He hasn’t heard that voice in three long years.  He doesn’t turn yet, not ready to accept that the line between reality and insanity is beginning to thin and blur.

****

The hand tugs, the voice shakes, pleading for acknowledgement.  John sobs, shaking, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter.   _No no no no_.  He rocks back and forth on the bed, wrapping his arms around himself.  He’s held out for so long, so long avoiding slipping into hysteria.  

****

_The demons in his mind grin, taking shape, long, dark talons reaching towards the tiny man cowering in his mind._

****

The bed sinks as his hallucination takes form, sitting next to him.  The voice is different than he remembers.  Before it had never begged, never asked forgiveness.  He’s spiraling into madness faster, now, creating scenarios that could never happen.

****

_The demons solidify, claws sharpening, scraping against the walls, descending on their prey.  The avatar screams, the man gasps and cringes._

****

And suddenly, John is snatched up, turned around, and made to face his insanity.  He can’t look, he won’t look, surely there’s nothing there to see.  Strong hands pull him, embrace him, hold him.  There is a heartbeat against his ear, a deep rumble in the warm chest as indistinct words are spoken.  Sherlock’s scent surrounds him, wafting in on the breeze from the open window.  John pulls back, eyes open wide, clinging to the familiar jacket, mouth agape.  Sherlock’s long fingers reach and wipe the tears from John’s cheeks, ignoring the ones falling from his own eyes.  Warm tears splash onto John’s wrist, snapping him back to reality.

****

_The demons scream as the windows of his mind are thrown open, beacons of hope washing the walls, and the fog fades.  The avatar rises, blinking._

****

“Sherlock!  Is that really you?”  John’s voice is rough and raw from crying, but the hope that is there is tangible, the unbearable pounding in his head diminishes, replaced by the rapid beat of his heart.

  
“Yes, John, it’s me.  I’m really here.”  Sherlock smiles through his tears.

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I've been working on. If you saw my post in Anthea's Apartment you know what's going on. Whenever I am having a rough time/depressed I seem to take it out on John. At least this time he fares better than in Greeting the Dark.


End file.
